An Unexpected Father

by Lisa Ruff

  Jack groaned dramatically. “But I—”

  “Don’t give me a hard time, bucko,” Mimi said, putting her hand on his head and tilting his face to hers. “You can see Ian another time.”

  “You’re no fun,” Jack said with a pout. He twisted away from her, dashing for the front door. “What’s for lunch?”

  “Eel pie with worms.”

  “Gross!” Jack laughed and rolled his eyes. “I want peanut butter.”

  “With or without?”

  “What kind of jam is there?”

  “Strawberry or grape.”

  “With. Strawberry.” He dropped his backpack on the floor inside the door.

  “Hey! Take that upstairs.”

  “Aw, can’t I eat first?”

  “Go. And wash your hands while you’re there,” Mimi said as Jack picked up the bag and dragged it up the stairs, letting it thump against every step. She laughed and shook her head. “I foresee a great future for you on the stage.”

  Shooting her a glowering look that wouldn’t hold, Jack bounded up the rest of the stairs and disappeared. Mimi set her purse on the hall table and went into the kitchen to make lunch. Claire was already there, mixing dough in a large ceramic bowl. A bag of apples was on the counter to one side.

  “Hi, Mom. Oh, are you making a pie?”

  “Yes. Your father had a craving, so I thought I’d indulge him. How did Jack do in school today?”

  “He claims it went well. And he actually forgot to tell me how stupid the whole thing was.”

  Claire chuckled. “He’s falling down on the job, then.”

  “He enjoys it,” Mimi whispered. “But don’t tell him I said that.”

  Mimi opened the cupboard and pulled out a jar of chunky peanut butter. She took down a plate and got a knife out of the drawer, then went to the refrigerator for jam. “Do you want a sandwich? Today’s special is peanut butter.”

  “Does he ever eat anything else?”

  Mimi laughed. “Never. My son is a creature of habit.”

  “I think I’ll pass just this once.”

  Mimi smeared peanut butter on a slice of bread, then added a generous dollop of jam before putting another piece on top. She cut the sandwich in half. “May I have one of those apples for him?”

  “Of course.” Claire neatly quartered and cored an apple.

  Mimi was pouring a tall glass of milk just as Jack raced into the kitchen.

  “Mom! Guess what?”

  “Lunch is ready?”

  “No! I just heard—”

  “Sit first, then tell me your news.” She put a hand on his shoulder and nudged him to the table. “Mo-om. This is important,” Jack said with a scowl.

  “So is lunch.” Hearing his huff of impatience, she put her hands on her hips. “All right already. What?”

  “Johnny Sinclair is playing at the Monument club!”

  Claire shot her daughter a swift glance, forming the piecrust dough into a ball. Mimi froze for a split second, then dropped her hands to her sides. “How nice for Mr. Sinclair.”

  “The concert’s next week. Can we go hear him? Please?”

  “You’re nine, Jack.”

  “But he’s the best.”

  “The Monument is a nightclub. No kids allowed.” She smiled, trying to soften the news. “Not every bar owner is as lenient as your grandpop.”

  Jack sagged into his chair and picked up half his sandwich. “It’s not fair,” he said around a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly.

  “You’ll be grown up soon enough and you can see all the concerts you want,” Claire said with calm assertion.

  Jack grunted unhappily and kept eating. Mimi put away the peanut butter, jam and milk, before opening the dishwasher and dropping the knife into the cutlery basket. She focused completely on each small task, letting them calm her.

  “What time do we have to go, Grandmom?”

  “As soon as you’re done eating.” Claire put the dough in the refrigerator to chill.

  Jack began chugging his milk as if it was the last glass he would ever get.

  “Slow down or you’ll drown,” Mimi scolded.

  “Can I go down to the yard after me and Grandmom get back?” Jack asked, biting into a slice of apple.

  “Grandmom and I. Not today.”

  “But I gotta work on the boat that me and Ian are building,” Jack wailed.

  “Tomorrow.” Mimi held firm. “You spent all yesterday afternoon with him. Give the man a break once in a while. He does have work to do, you know.”

  Jack frowned. “He never cares if I hang around.”

  “I care.” Mimi turned to her mother. “I’m going upstairs to change. Thanks for taking Jack to do this.”

  “We won’t be too long. Unless we happen to stop for ice cream.”

  “Yeah!” Jack bounced out of his chair. “I want a scoop of strawberry and one of peanutty delight.”

  “First, put your dishes in the dishwasher,” Claire said.

  Mimi left the kitchen, went up to her room and closed the door behind her. There, she sat on the bed for a minute, then fell backward to lie staring up at the ceiling. Johnny Sinclair. Just thinking the name put a bitter taste on her tongue. Hearing it from her son—their son—was worse. Mimi closed her eyes and sighed. Now he would be here, invading her town. What did it signify? Probably nothing. After all these years, Johnny had yet to make an appearance in Jack’s life. She doubted he would suddenly decide to do so now.

  Pushing herself up from the bed, she changed into a pair of tailored shorts and a dark green T-shirt with the Laughing Gull logo across the back. At the same time, she pushed Johnny Sinclair into the nether reaches of her mind where he belonged. She wished he would vanish completely, but Johnny still lurked in the shadows, ready to jump out and startle her. He was the father of her child. Time did not change that. It never would.

  IAN WORKED THROUGH THE afternoon with one eye on the door to the shop, expecting Jack to burst through it at any moment. When three o’clock came and went, he had to assume that Jack was not going to put in an appearance today, which disappointed him. Even though the kid constantly asked questions and got into everything, Ian enjoyed his company. Jack needed a firm hand on his tiller, but he was smart, inquisitive and entertaining. Ian genuinely liked the boy.

  Two weeks ago, they had started a project together, building an Optimist pram for Jack. Constructing any boat—even this pint-size one—took work, but it was not too complicated for a dedicated nine-year-old who had supervision. First, they had laid the paper patterns out and carefully marked the plywood pieces. After they cut these, Jack drilled small holes in the edges. Then assembly began. They strung short lengths of copper wire through the holes and twisted them tight, cinching the pieces together. Then they covered the seams in thick epoxy to strengthen them. Now the pram, upside down on two sawhorses in the corner of the shop, waited for more coats of epoxy and a few coats of paint.

  Building the pram kept Jack busy. And, Ian had to admit to himself, kept the kid at the shop for long hours. That meant that Mimi often came to fetch him. These brief encounters were Ian’s secret vice. Mimi remained the one thing he knew he shouldn’t have, but couldn’t keep from wanting. He told himself that as long as he didn’t touch her, as long as their conversation was about Jack, the Gull, his work, her singing, he was safe. They just had to make it through the next couple of months without doing something stupid. And yet, it was as though the more they avoided talking about how they felt, the bigger and more dangerous those feelings got.

  The door to the shop creaked open, startling Ian from his thoughts. Jack rushed in and let the door slam behind him.

  “Hey, runt. I wondered where you were.”

  “I had to go get new shoes.”

  Ian looked at the tattered, dirt-stained tennis shoes Jack wore. “They selling preworn ones now?”

  Jack giggled. “No. These are my old ones. Mom’d kill me if I got gunk on the new ones right away.”
<
br />   “Smart man,” Ian said with a nod.

  “Can we work on my boat today?”

  “Sure, we’ve got time to lay up another layer on the keel.”

  “Yeah!” Jack bounced over to the shelves where Ian kept all the epoxy and adhesives. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and looked over at Ian. “Should I mix up the same stuff we used yesterday?”

  Ian pulled a roll of fiberglass mesh out of a bin. The strands were woven into a thin cloth. “Cut a strip of this first.”

  Jack got the scissors. “How wide?”

  “I’d say about three inches for the first pass. How much for the strip on top of that?”

  “Two inches wider than the one below it, right?”

  “Exactly.” Ian handed Jack a tape measure. “Check how long the piece should be before you get gooped up with epoxy.”

  Jack measured and cut. Ian kept an eye on him as he finished a set of three drawer fronts. As they both worked, Jack chattered about school and a story he had read about a girl who grew up in Africa. Ian shook his head as he listened. Where was the kid who said he hated school?

  When Jack finished cutting, Ian helped him mix up a batch of epoxy. “Make sure the fabric is completely saturated,” Ian said.

  “It’s clear all the way through.” Jack’s face was intent, his brow furrowed in concentration. He dabbed at the fiberglass cloth in place on the keel. “How do I get the bubbles out again?”

  “Use that roller. Work from the center out.”

  “Oops, I got a drip.” Jack grabbed a paper towel and smeared away the excess epoxy without being told.

  Ian patted him on the back. “You know what you’re doing.” He went back to his workbench and let Jack apply the second layer by himself.

  “I think I’m done,” Jack said. “Come look.”

  Ian set down his sanding block and moved over to the small boat. The fiberglass lay in a glistening line down the outside of the keel. It looked smooth and even. “Perfect. How many layers total?”

  “Four. Two yesterday and two today. Is that strong enough?”

  “Should be. We’ll test it tomorrow and see.” Ian laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

  Jack grinned up at him, peeled off his gloves and threw them in the trash. The door opened and a slant of sunlight washed across the floor as a tall man with dark hair going silver stepped inside.

  “Hey, Pop,” Ian said.

  “The bronze screws you ordered for Thalia came in.” Ian’s father dropped a small box on the workbench.

  “Jack, this is my father, Antonio Berzani. Pop, this is Jack Green, George’s grandson.”

  Antonio solemnly shook the boy’s hand. “I am very pleased to meet you.”

  Jack ducked his head shyly. “Nice to meet you,” he said in a mumble.

  “We were just looking over Jack’s work,” Ian said. “He’s building an Optimist.”

  Carefully, taking time to check the seams, epoxy and fiberglass, Antonio surveyed Jack’s work. “You did this?” he asked, looking intently at the boy.

  “Ian showed me what to do, but I laid this up all on my own,” Jack said proudly. His shyness evaporated under the calm attention of the older man.

  “This is very good work.” Antonio looked over at Ian. “Have you offered him a job yet? We can’t let such a good worker get away from us.” Jack giggled.

  “Not yet. I will as soon I see how he finishes this.”

  “I am going over to Freeman’s to pick up an order. Do you need anything?”

  “Nope. I’m set.”

  Antonio nodded, then looked down at Jack. “Keep up the good work. This will be a fine sailboat when you are finished.”

  Jack tried to hide behind his bangs, but Ian saw the pleased embarrassment on his face. Antonio smiled, patted Ian on the shoulder and left them. Next, Ian showed Jack how to sand the pieces of plywood that would form the rudder and daggerboard, then went back to work on his own project. Jack was silent as he sanded, which was unusual.

  “Your dad’s nice,” he said finally.

  “I think so, too.”

  “I don’t have a dad.”

  Ian looked over at Jack, but the boy kept his face averted. He set down his block of sandpaper. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

  “You’ve got a great mom.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  Before Ian could comment further, the door to the shop swung open again and Mimi walked inside.

  “Hello, Ian.” She flicked him a glance, but her eyes were centered on Jack. “I thought I told you that you couldn’t come here today,” she said sternly.

  “But that was before.”

  “Jack, I told you not today,” Mimi said. “That means all day.”

  “But I just came over for a little while.”

  “Didn’t you tell me you have homework?”

  “Only one page of math. That’s hardly anything!”

  Ian listened to the battle rage without really hearing it. Seeing Mimi so suddenly seemed to have jarred something loose inside. Her face was angry, brows drawn together as she argued with Jack. She had a smear of something damp on her shirt and her ponytail was lopsided. Still, she was prettier than any woman he had ever seen. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted another soul on earth. The truth struck Ian like a hammer blow.

  I love her.

  He shook his head, but Mimi and Jack paid no heed and kept arguing. It couldn’t be true, Ian thought. They had known each other for such a short time. He had plans. She had commitments. There were a hundred reasons why it could not be true.

  “But, Jack, what did I say?”

  “Not to come down here today.” Jack squirmed and hung his head.

  “Finally, we agree. We’re going home. Now. We’ll discuss this on the way back.”

  With a sigh, Jack set down his sandpaper. He walked over to his mother, scuffing his feet on the concrete as he went. Mimi put one hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the door.

  “Bye, Ian,” she said, her face still full of ire. “Jack will see you another day.”

  The door closed behind them and Ian stared at it. “I can’t be in love with her,” he said aloud in the ringing silence of the room.

  His denial had no effect. His heart knew the truth, even if his head was running in panic. Slumping to a seat on a stool, Ian propped his elbows on the workbench and dropped his head into his hands. He had tried so hard avoid this trap, but here he was again. What was he supposed to do now? He looked around and saw no escape.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mimi set her tray on the table and gathered up the empty glasses and beer bottles. With a flick of a damp cloth, she wiped the table clean, then hoisted the tray. Balancing her load with one hand, she wove her way back through the bar, stopping at tables as she passed. A couple at the window ordered more beer. A foursome at table seven wanted chips and salsa as well as another round of margaritas. Table three was ready for their check, so she cashed them out and sent them off with a smile.

  George came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a bar towel. He’d been in the stockroom, shifting boxes around. “How did we end up with two cases of raspberry vodka?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Mimi said as she swished glasses through the wash and into the rinse water.

  “Must be left over from the New Year’s Eve bash.”

  “I see raspberry martinis will be this month’s special.”

  George laughed as he poured a beer for a customer down the bar. Mimi collected money and dirty glasses from a couple who were finished for the evening. Dumping the glasses in the sink, she made change and waved the two regulars goodbye.

  “Can you take over for a few?” she asked George.

  “No problem. Going to check on Jack?”

  “You got it. He’s overdrawn his trustworthiness account.” Mimi pursed her lips. “I’ve got to make sure he’s doing what he promised to do.”

  “He just likes to be around Ian, Mim,” George
said with a chuckle. “I’d want to be down at the marina, working on a boat myself.”

  “But when I say no, he has to obey me. Is that too strict?”

  “No. You balance well—you give him boundaries where he needs them, but you’re careful not to stifle him.”

  Mimi felt a rush of satisfaction from her father’s praise. “Plus, Ian needs a break. The man has a job. Jack can’t go over there every afternoon and get in the way.”

  “Does Ian complain?”

  “No, but—”

  “Ian’s a big boy. If he didn’t want Jack around, he’d figure out a way to get rid of him.”

  “Maybe so. I just don’t want to take advantage of him.” Mimi chewed the inside of her lip. “Anyway, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Mimi walked over to the house and opened the door quietly. She sneaked up the stairs as silently as she could. The door to Jack’s room was ajar just enough so she could peek in without being seen. Lo and behold, there he sat at his desk, pencil in hand, engrossed in his math workbook. Mimi resisted the urge to barge in and give him a kiss on his blessed little cheek. Instead, she went back outside and raised both fists in the air and did a victory dance on the front porch. Then she went back to work.

  “Thanks,” she told her father. “You can get out of here for a while if you want.”

  George glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at her. “Mim, there’s someone here to see you.”

  “Who?” For some reason, she hoped it might be Ian.

  He looked past her again and Mimi turned, following his gaze. Before she could speak, she was snared by brilliant blue eyes that exactly matched a photo she had once seen of the Aegean Sea. The man’s blond hair was short and stylishly spiked up in the front. A half-dozen earrings decorated one ear and a tattoo wrapped around his wrist. Mimi’s mouth dropped open with dread. It could not be. It must not be.

  When he smiled at her, she knew it was. A mischievous, charming grin with its flaw of slightly overlapping front teeth confirmed it. Her head felt light. Her gut tightened. Then he got off the stool and came toward her. He still wore the same attire, as if he had never worn anything else: a concert T-shirt, blue jeans torn and faded in all the right spots and black boots. He put his arms around her and hugged her tightly.